


Don't Look at Me

by Frazzemrat1



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends are awesome, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 21:51:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17589092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frazzemrat1/pseuds/Frazzemrat1
Summary: Why doesn't anybody comfort Lavellan after Solas breaks up with her? Here, I fixed that...





	Don't Look at Me

**Author's Note:**

> A quick bit of drivel that popped into my head during my most recent play through of DAI. The loss of the valleslin is mentioned, but I would expect some outrage or something. So, this is what my brain spit out. Not rewriting the whole game, just adding a little piece. Enjoy.

Slowly, Alorai woke. She glanced around her tower chamber before rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She still was surprised when she woke to find such opulence wasn’t a dream, when she expected the branches and leaves of a tree above her. She lay there as she reviewed the last year of her life. She’d been a simple Dalish hunter, the best shot in Clan Lavellan. Tasked with going to the shem’s conclave by her Keeper, to learn how the outcome would affect their clan.

The blonde elf groaned as she rolled her slim body over as she mentally ticked off boxes; survived the explosion at the conclave, fell out of a rift with a new magical green mark (the ‘Anchor’ they called it), fought off a darkspawn magister at Haven after meeting the best friend of her life, Dorian. The man of her dreams leads her to Skyhold where they resettle themselves and name her Inquisitor. Met the Empress of Orlais and saved her life, fell into the fade, and escaped. Varric was right. She had the Gods’ own bad luck.

She scowled as she thought of Solas. That elf was unlike any she’d ever encountered before. He’d healed her, helped her, guided her and taught her. She was fascinated by his stories of the fade, what he’d learned about the ancient elvhen. He had been so angry with her for drinking from the Well, but she’d easily been able to change his mind by reminding him of the alternative; that much power and knowledge, (elvhen knowledge at that!) with a shem like Morrigan. 

Over the course of the last nine months or so, she’d fallen completely in love with the apostate. His sense of humor, his charm, his wit… all drew her to him like a moth to flame. He’d taken more convincing than she had, but when he’d finally made love to her in this very bed… Alorai angrily scrubbed the tears from her eyes as she pushed the thoughts away.

Well, that was all over now, she thought with a shuddering sigh. She rose from her bed, determined to work hard enough that she wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t think about him. She walked to her mirror, where a bowl of water sat for her morning ablutions. She splashed water on her face before drying it with a towel. She looked up into the mirror and choked on a sob. 

Her face was forever changed. She remembered what he’d said last night. He’d said that her beautiful vallaslin, delicate lines in turquoise that matched her eyes, dedicated to the imagery of Andruil; he’d said that they were really slave markings that the ancients had used. He had then offered to remove her vallaslin, which Alorai had accepted. But why would he do this, tell her this if he was only going to leave her? Sobbing and unable to look at her bare face any longer, Alorai slid to the floor. She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them she put her head down and wept.

“Alorai, darling, a little bird told me I should… Fasta vass! What’s happened?” Alorai had missed the door below opening and closing, had even missed Dorian’s steps on the stairs. Suddenly she was enveloped in strong arms which cradled her to a warm chest. 

Startled, Alorai looked up into Dorian’s concerned eyes. She heard his gasp as she wrapped an arm around his back and dropped her head to his shoulder and leaned into his embrace. She felt him stroking her back and crooning to her as she continued to cry on him. Finally her sobbing slowed, and the hiccups and sniffles started. She relaxed away from Dorian a little, keeping her face and eyes down. She found a hand kerchief pass into her field of vision. Absently nodding, she accepted the scrap of fabric and started trying to clean her face. 

“As much as I enjoy playing the dashing hero, the floor is not my favorite location. Shall we move to the couch?” Dorian murmured in her ear, his voice low and comforting. Alorai nodded, but before she could get up, she found herself scooped up and carried to the couch. Dorian arranged her, before dragging the quilt off the back of the couch and wrapping her in it. From a tray she hadn’t noticed before he produced a cup of tea for her, which she clutched in both hands. With a wink, he added a dash of Antivan brandy from his flask, before making up his own cup and settling himself beside her.

“Now, darling, what’s happened?” Dorian gently and quietly asked.

“Solas,” her voice broke. She took a deep breath and started again, “Solas broke it off with me.” She rasped, her voice sounded hideous.

“Kaffas, why? You both seemed so happy! Well,” Dorian amended, “you did. He seemed… less dour, I suppose.”

Alorai huffed at Dorian, causing him to smile apologetically at her. She turned her eyes to her tea. “He said he didn’t want to distract me from our mission; from Corypheus.” 

“How is this not distracting? Vishante kaffas, what is he thinking?” Dorian said, seemingly to himself. His eyes met Alorai’s across the rim of her tea cup. “I suppose he took your vaseline as well?”

“Vallaslin, Da’len.” Alorai automatically corrected, without thinking. She realized what she’d said and felt the tears welling up again as she remembered.

Dorian reached forward and pulled her sideways against him. “Now, now darling, no more of this. Not that your emotions aren’t justified but I don’t know which is worse; that he left you or that he left you with a reminder you will see every time you look in the mirror.” Dorian’s voice was still low, but now with a dangerous edge to it. “How could you not be distracted?” 

They sat that way for a while, Alorai slowly sipping her toddy while Dorian quietly held her. When her beverage was done, Dorian directed her to her wardrobe and ordered her into clothing more suitable for walking around in public. Once she’d brushed her hair, she tried to pull it forward to hide her unmarked face, rather than braid it back as she normally did. Dorian tutted at her and braided her hair himself. Serviceably. Barely. She couldn’t keep herself from snorting at the job he’d done before she fixed it.

Once she was done, Dorian placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her down to the tavern. Once there, he ordered them something to break their fast. Alorai smiled at Iron Bull when he joined them. Their plates were brought and Alorai sighed as she dipped her toasted bread in her poached eggs before cutting into her sausages, not realizing until then how hungry she was.

After eating a bit she glanced around, self-conscience that people were staring at her bare face. It reminded her of how she felt when she’d first joined the Inquisition, before it was the Inquisition. At first people would look at her with suspicion, then reverence. She was forever being stared at, or at least it felt that way. Alorai leaned forward into a slouch before Bull touched her elbow. 

“Don’t give him the satisfaction, Boss. You’re still you; the strong, sexy Inquisitor. Able to shoot the wings off a fly at 50 yards without the horse he’s sitting on flinching.” It was pure drivel of course, and made her chuckle. She didn’t want to know how Bull had figured it out but she did appreciate his efforts. Damn Ben-Hassrath. She couldn’t forget what Solas had said, what he’d done, but her friends did make it better. 

“Hey Inky! What happ’nd to yer face?” Sera waved a piece of toast in Alorai’s direction as she sat down. Dorian and Bull both turned to glare at her. “Wot?! It’s obvious somethin’s happened, innit? Looks better though, less elfy. Wait, wot’s happ’nd? Why does she look like somebody shot Solas?”

Dorian’s eyes met Alorai’s and she nodded. Sighing at their loud, not-elfy friend, Dorian leaned over to Sera and murmured in her ear. Sera’s eyes grew wide and then shot to Alorai.

“I’ma shoot 'im right in'is big bald head!” Sera shot to her feet. “I’ma…”

“Stop, Sera!” Alorai rose with Sera and pushed her back down in her chair. “It won’t help anything.”

“It’d help me feel better.” Sera growled, but remained seated with her arms crossed. 

“Inquisitor, I’m sorry to disturb your breakfast, but Lelianna is calling a meeting.” Cullen quietly said from Alorai’s elbow. “It seems her scouts have found the way to your secondary temple of Mythal.”

“I’ll be there in a moment, thank you Cullen.” Alorai gave a big sigh. The Inquisition moved on, regardless of her inner turmoil. She turned to her table companions. Dorian and Bull winced as they watched Sera as she repetitively stabbed a sausage while grumbling to herself. “You three get your gear. I’ll take you with me on this trip.” 

The three sprang to their feet with varying degrees of eagerness, and for varying reasons. Both Bull and Dorian looked eager to get away from Sera’s mood. Nobody looked surprised that Alorai had substituted Dorian for Solas’ normal spot on her team.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been editing for corrections... and I figured I'd add the words not English.
> 
> Tevene:  
> Fasta Vass: A swear word  
> Kaffas: Shit  
> Vishante Kaffas: You shit on my tongue
> 
> Elven:  
> Da'len: Little child, Little One.  
> Valleslin: Blood writing. The tattoos Dalish elves commonly wear on their faces to display worship of a favored Elvhen God.


End file.
